The Choices of Tar Miriel
by WargishBoromirFan
Summary: AU- What if Tar-Miriel hadn't waited for Ar-Pharazon to claim her throne?[Ch7 now up]PG for reference to suicide attempt. Features Radagast.
1. Crown and Scars

Author's Notes /Disclaimer: It's an AU, based on the Akallbeth. Tolkien owns the real stuff; I just get bitten by plot-bunnies and produce "Far Wind."

In the real version, Miriel was the daughter of Tar-Palantir, the last of the line of Númenorean kings who was friendly with the elves. She was forcibly married to her cousin, Ar-Pharazon, who was the last of the Numenorean kings of old, before the isle fell. Radagast had nothing to do with them. The Brown Wizard, like the rest of the Istari, never stepped foot on Andor.

How would the history of the Dunedain have changed if Miriel had escaped Pharazon, leaving an imperial line of old untainted by the fall of Numenor? The ramifications of this question are handled more thoroughly in the later part of "Wargs to Live By," but one doesn't have to read that in order to understand this story. This puppy is mostly for background, and trying to get my little mind around Miriel's character. No members of the fellowship or other canonical characters were harmed in the making of this work.

* * *

Miriel, "the weak-hearted daughter of a rebellious elf-friend," ran from Pharazon when she was convinced by her councilor Ragastion (Absolutely of no relation to Radagast the Brown, the wizard reassures us) that she could not fight her cousin and giving up the throne willingly was not an option. Pharazon, against all law, custom, and good taste, meant to marry his cousin to thoroughly secure the throne for his descendants.

At first, Miriel was ready to fight. Her father was the first king in the generations since the breaking of alliance between Elves and men to openly declare himself an elf friend, and the newly crowned Tar-Miriel had every intention of continuing where her father left off, even if such work meant openly declaring her cousin and all her ancestors back to the days of the first seafaring Numenoreans, or "Dunedain" as the eastern folk called them for their dark hair and western origins, traitors to the Empire. Her councilor, a wizened old man who appeared to prefer the company of animals, especially birds, to that of humans, warned the brash young queen that Pharazon still had the sympathy of much of the military. Even at the height of the Numenorean Empire, ruling queens were looked at as little more than puppets. The army would likely rebel if the Tar exiled Pharazon, a man fond of power with the ability to capitalize upon all of Miriel's weaknesses.

"It would be best to have him assassinated in a way that cannot be traced to you, Majesty," Ragastion told her, "Best if your 'noble' cousin was lost at sea before he can start this scheme to win the Winged Crown for himself. Yet any attempt on his life will automatically be linked to you, whether we actually try something or not, so I fear that option is out of the question."

"Yet we cannot sit here like helpless kittens whilst his power and ambition grows under our noses. If we give him much longer he will seize the throne through a forced marriage, if my cousin has not already the gall to oppose me upon the battlefield," Miriel shot back, gripping the arms of the throne worriedly. She was enrobed in regal splendor, although there were none there to see save for her old councilor in his simple brown robes, and the hooded falcon hunched upon his gloved fist. The Winged Crown of the Sea-Kings weighed heavily upon her brow, appearing too large for her head, despite, or even perhaps because of, the exotic hairstyle she wore that wove her many small braids back and forth through the golden band and points reminiscent of birds' wings swept back and above her head in order to keep the coronet in place.

"No," Ragastion shook his head empathetically, upsetting the bird, which flapped tetchily to regain its balance. "No, we cannot sit here, your majesty. In fact, I must encourage you to leave the empire entirely."

"Leave my country?" Miriel clutched the arms of her seat even more tightly to keep herself from rising in anger. "And leave that power-crazed cousin of mine an open path to the throne? Councilor, one might think you've gone senile. I hardly see how this helps our position."

"It has often been said that discretion is the better part of valor, Majesty," the white-haired man said dryly as he soothed the falcon upon his wrist. "That's enough out of you, Giladrian," Ragastion murmured to the irritated gray bird. "I can only deal with one flighty female at a time. Tar-Miriel, it is exactly the fact that you are leaving that impedes Pharazon's way to a clear throne. He can hardly hope to eliminate your proper heirs if he cannot find them, your majesty. You cannot oppose him upon the battlefield, and we cannot let him take you or your descendants into his clutches. If we hide them, your children may be able to return and reclaim their rightful throne."

"If there is a throne remaining for them to reclaim," Miriel ignored her councilor's forestalling hand, allowing her temper to get the better of her training in diplomacy and her trust in the brown robed old man long enough to voice her pent up worries that had festered under constant fear of her cousin. "Pharazon will destroy our lands and divide the Empire with his lust for personal gain. He cares nothing for the people, merely for war and expansion."

"Indeed, you are right, Majesty. I fear Pharazon will divide the empire in civil war, but as so long as there are people who believe in the basic decency of the human spirit, there shall be support for the true wearers of the Winged Crown. They shall resist Pharazon and await your heirs eagerly. The kingdom, like a sword, may be broken, but if there are still those who remember its power, it may yet be reforged."

"Yet even if I could brave myself to face the shame of abandoning my country when she needs me the most, where could I go? Pharazon will surely declare me traitor, as surely as he himself is a traitor," Miriel's rich brown hair shook partially loose of the crown as she covered her face with a stiffened, tense clawed hand. Her long nails left a slight crimson burn upon her pale forehead when she removed them, opening and closing her fists. There was no point in damaging herself, for this would only worsen her hopeless situation; she knew that. Yet the pain was something she could feel, something she could do something about, unlike her cousin's threat. "This would mean abandoning my empire entirely. I cannot do that, Ragastion."

"Yes, you can, Tar-Miriel. You can, and you must. I have a friend, a ship-captain, who can transport you across the seas, out of your cousin's hands." Ragastion took hold of her clenched fist and opened it, shaking back her sleeve to reveal the scars across her palms and wrists. "You leave the land no less permanently if you die, Miriel," he said quietly.

"Leaving my homeland means defeat, councilor. I cannot live with defeat." Miriel responded, snatching back her mangled hand. "And going to the mainland is hardly out of a monarch's reach. It is useless. I should die upon the battlefield, and make my last stand show that not all women are weak. Saving that, best to lead to the suspicion that Pharazon killed me."

"Nonsense, your majesty." Ragastion removed the hood from the bird's head, causing the falcon to blink her third eyelids rapidly over her huge, round red irises and bait at her jesses. "True enough; that we cannot hide you upon the continent, but Captain Palansül knows of more lands than the main continent and the isle of Andor."

"Palansül the Grayhavensailor?" the queen was as wild-eyed as the goshawk falcon. "If you think to send me to the elves, you may as well forget it, Ragastion. They have not accepted humans since the kings turned from them. My father's feeble attempts to renew the ancient friendship will mean nothing to them. That is worse than hopeless, unless you wish me to end like Eärendil and sail the seas unhomed for all of time. Palansül is a hopeless dreamer."

"Perhaps he is," Ragastion said with an enigmatic smile as he stroked the panting hawk, "And perhaps there is more to the stories of his journeys than meets the eye. I have my connections, your majesty, and if Palansül can get you to the elven home, I can assure you that you will not be turned away. But if you will excuse me, majesty, I must take Giladrian out for a flight if she is going to make any more catches for this court before I send her back to her homeland with the captain." The brown-robed old man turned to go at an imperious nod from the queen.

Miriel sat on her throne for an endless moment, stroking the arms of her seat as she pondered her options. "So this is how my house shall fall," she murmured, turning her hand over to see her wrist with its series of scars with new interest. Running her fingertips over the contours of the arms of her throne and the gauges left by her nails one last time to memorize her surroundings, Miriel stood, leaving the throne of her forefathers. She shook her braids out of the Winged Crown and reverently settled it upon her recently vacated dais, wishing she had an extra eyelid to clear the tears in her eyes without losing sight of her home. "Forgive me, father, but this is beyond my power. This is beyond anyone's power. Perhaps this way at least, time will heal the wound enough for us to return." Miriel, bereft of crown, country, and pride, bowed once before the empty throne and left to follow Ragastion to the ship.

* * *

Response to Reviewers: (I generally dislike putting these things in fics, but the lack of email addresses forces me to):

AAR Rocks My Socks: I'm glad you like it! I'll see what I can do about the color thing, but like my male friends, "peach and salmon are foods, I have no idea what puce is." I'll have to check around to see which shades fit the story.

Zeal2: You bring up several excellent points, and I'll try to work the corrections into the fic. Now wait a minute, The Havens are or they aren't part of Valinor? I thought they were. Your summary of Ar vs. Tar was also a bit confusing, although I'll try to look that up. Ferny and Butterbur live around hobbits, Bombadil is just plain strange, and the house names of the noble lineages aren't used very often, but is there any evidence either way for the existence of middle/lower-class last names in, say, Gondor for instance? (More of a scholarly inquiry, I intended "Grayhavensailor" as a title. It does make for a stupid last name, doesn't it?) With the Palantir - From my copy, at least, it says "sight," eyesight is only implied. "But the Lords of Valinor forbade them to sail so far westward that the _coasts of Numenor could no_ _longer be seen_; and for long the Dunedain were content, though they did not fully understand the purpose of this ban." The Silmarillion, pg. 323, © 1981. Make of it what you will. Amandil'll show up sooner or later, don't worry. Although we have different ideas of what counts as "flaws," and what should be counted as background, the de-Sueing gives me some plot ideas, thanks for that…


	2. The Smiling Sailor

A/N: I might be able to claim Palansül and Giladrian. The others are Tolkien's; I'm just trying to spread the love for them.

* * *

In dull, faded servant's livery, the falcon's cage on her hip counterbalancing the weight of her personal baggage, Miriel reminded herself to keep her head down. She could not afford to be recognized without risking everything she had left to her cousin's wrath. She would have broken into a frightened, hopeless dash for the ship and the relative safety of flight it promised, were it not for Ragastion's steadying hand on her shoulder and occasional whispers of comfort.

To the casual observer, the former queen appeared but one more servant in Councilor Ragastion's baggage train, a rather slow-witted and stubborn maid who required a watchful eye and a tight leash. Or so she hoped.

The Winged Crown would be discovered upon the empty throne shortly enough, and the grounds of the Imperial Palace would be turned upside down in the search of the missing queen. Tar-Miriel was beginning to regret the impulse that had caused her to leave the diadem in plain sight. A gesture to her ancestors was not worth spoiling her last, desperate hope for the future.

Ragastion had reassured her many times that she resembled any other commoner. "There are those who call me a wizard in such matters, Majesty," the brown robed old man had said with a sly grin after adding the finishing touches to her disguise. "You needn't fear about being seen." Even her characteristic regal stride had been obstructed by cumbersome burdens, yet Miriel could not feel as sure about this course of action as she wished.

With any delay, Pharazon would be upon the throne and have Ragastion detained for questioning, and Tar-Miriel would be forced back into that maelstrom of fear and self-hatred that had marred her time as queen, as well as leaving gouges in both the arms of her chair and her own flesh. She would be executed for running away, at best. That was no less than what she deserved for abandoning her people to her cousin's greedy, grasping rule. _Perhaps Pharazon is more just than I thought,_ she ruminated with a dark humor.

However, Miriel knew that death would hardly be Pharazon's first choice for handling his cousin's defiance. He would torture a confession out of Ragastion, force the old man to say that he had brought her along not only against her better judgment, but against her will as well. After breaking the her old friend's spirit and publicly shaming him with a crime he did not commit, Pharazon would have Miriel's oldest, closest, and wisest friend executed, so that she would have no one left to run to. The very thought made Miriel shudder, leaning slightly into the brown-robed man's comforting, fatherly arm upon her shoulder.

"The poor woman obviously needs someone to care for her," she could see Pharazon in her mind's eye, strutting proudly in his ill-gotten crown, leaning over her patronizingly. "As her only family left in the world, it is up to me to make sure she is properly cared for." His voice was almost as oily as his slick dark hair. "And how better to care for my dear, sweet cousin- " he would try to kiss her then, the soulless wretch, it was Miriel's deepest prayer that she would never let that most un-brotherly kiss land without a fight, "-than by becoming her husband and king?"

"Easy, Miriel," Ragastion murmured, suspecting the reason for her shudders, "We're almost to the ship." Indeed, the sounds of seabirds, haggling merchants, and bellicose fishmongers rent the air, and the smells of saltwater and fish assaulted the queen's delicate nostrils. The brown-robed man gestured to a medium sized vessel, rocking in the waves, and a grizzled sailor standing aboard waved in return, leaping ashore to help with the baggage.

"Passage for Radagast the Brown and a companion?" the seaman took the hawk's cage from Miriel, and Giladrian screeched her discomfort at a further change of handlers from under her embroidered hood.

"Best if you do not mention our true names until we set out along our way, Palansül," Ragastion bowed slightly. "Not all here are friendly with our associates, if you take my meaning."

"A paucity of friends has hardly stopped me from going about my business before, Radagast," the sea captain laughed. His eyes were bright and merry, as if he had beheld wondrous sights beyond mortal ken, Miriel noticed.

"No, perhaps, it has not," the brown-robed old councilor smiled in return, "but call me Ragastion, please, Palansül. It is the name my charge is most familiar with."

The seaman looked Miriel over, taking her brown hair, now pulled back into a tight bun, and soft features that had been smudged with soot to hide her identity into consideration with his laughing gray eyes. "And this would be she, is it not, my friend?" he nodded to her.

"I am she," Miriel said coolly, meeting his gaze with her own defiant one. Palansül gave a bow that the queen would have considered mocking from anyone else, but could quite well be genuine from this odd, jovial man.

"Well, welcome aboard the _Elwing_, milady. I shall be your captain for this journey, Palansül the Grayhavensailor." The ship was not much bigger than some of the tiny two man fishing boats Miriel had seen, and was further crowded by the rather half-hazard packing method its captain appeared to favor. _Elwing_ was obviously the abode of a rather absent-minded bachelor. Its only other strange feature was a device atop a high crow's nest that Miriel did not recognize.

"Wait a moment, Ragastion," she said before stepping aboard with her councilor. She turned back toward the land, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of Andor one last time as the brown-robed old man came to stand with her. "I don't suppose we'll ever see it again, will we?" she said softly.

"Perhaps not in waking life, Tar-Miriel," he said after a moment, laying his hand supportively on her shoulder. "But it will always be there in our dreams and memories."

"All aboard, you two," a gentle voice interrupted their reverie. "It is time." Palansül cast off, but Miriel's eyes never left her homeland until it was out of sight of even the sharpest eyed hawk, the tears in her eyes preventing her from ever saying exactly when Andor, which the people of Numenor call the Land of the Gift, disappeared from the horizon.

* * *

Keeping her silent, soul-searing vigil at the stern of the boat, Miriel never noticed the quiet footsteps approach her from behind. "There was an old law, given to us by the elves when we first settled in Andor," her companion ventured shortly after the westernmost of the human realms faded from view and he realized her fierce inner battle with her emotions had been lost. "The first Numenoreans were allowed to venture as far east as they dared, but it was forbidden for a man to sail west out of the sight of Andor."

"And I suppose you consider yourself a hero, for breaking this single request that the elves gave to us. The eastern lands are not good enough for Captain Palansül the Grayhavensailor. He must seek a way to bring ruin and torment to the elven lands as well," Miriel's eyes flashed with her fiery spirit, which was no less tempestuous for her troubled decision. Palansül was willing to swear of a close kinship between woman and falcon that even now rattled restively at the bars of her cage, if not for the hot-blooded nature of all members of the "gentler" feminine sex.

"I am one of the Faithful, majesty," the captain rebuffed her gently, "as surely as you yourself are and your worthy father was. I still follow the laws of the elves, being what I am."

The brown-haired woman, tears of what was at least partially laughter smearing the masking dirt upon her cheeks, wiped her eyes as the sailor looked at her in askance. "Surely you don't mean that, Palansül; the island is long out of my view, and we follow the setting sun upon this course."

"You imply the sun will rise in the west tomorrow if I am telling the truth? I have seen stranger things happen, Mistress Miriel." He smiled playfully at her proud glare, and reached to kiss her hand. The queen pulled out of his grasp hastily, not wanting a stranger to see her scars. Palansül shrugged expansively, mistaking her abruptness for the hubris of the old noble houses. "But indeed, we may be out of sight of the eagles of Andor, but they are not out of ours," he added mysteriously, with a twinkle in his ever jocular gray eyes, as if he were exposing some grand and heartening secret.

"How is such a thing possible?" Miriel searched his expression for some hidden clue, some vulnerability she could turn against this sailor to make him reveal the truth to her, but save perhaps a weakness for good jokes exposed in the wrinkles about his eyes and mouth, she could find none.

"Come, Majesty, and I will show you," he replied. "Old Radagast, or Ragastion, as you know him, could probably use the opportunity to rest his aged eyes at any rate, wizard or no." Gesturing broadly with an entire forearm, he led Miriel up to the crow's nest upon the single mast that dominated the small ship. Starting up the ladder with the practiced ease of a spider in his web, he turned to offer the queen a hand as she approached the rickety climb.

"Don't you have a ship to run?" Ignoring the proffered hand, Tar-Miriel started up the ladder behind him, careful not to look down.

"Aye, but the_ Elwing_ will get along just fine without her captain for a good while yet," Palansül kept his ineffable constant grin upon Miriel as they climbed up to the crow's nest. "We've a good wind at our backs and a three-week journey to the Havens. She's a smooth runner, and allows me a good measure of independence. A man can hardly ask for more out of a good life-mate, and that the _Elwing_ is to me, sure as her namesake was to Eärendil."

"I know many a ship has been cursed by a maid for taking away her beloved, but I take it this one is not so blessed?" Miriel teased gently, attempting to gain a better understanding of this strange man.

"No, not as of yet," was all Palansül was willing to respond. They finished their climb in thoughtful, companionable silence; the captain offering Miriel a hand up once they reached their destination. The queen pulled herself up determinedly without assistance, unwilling to acknowledge either her fear of heights or hidden scars to Palansül.

"Now, what is this miraculous device you are using to strain my councilor's eyes that you are so eager to show me?" Miriel asked, scanning about the cramped lookout tower.

"Surely the daughter of Tar-Palantir would recognize this," the captain unveiled a deep blue stone that looked as if it had survived the deepest seas and then taken the essence of their endless waters into itself. In its murky depths Miriel could make out the image of a gull in flight, and a harbor of ships rocking in the tide beneath.

"How did you lay hands upon a palantir, Palansül? I dare not ask how you learned to work this," Miriel shot a questioning look at her councilor, but Ragastion simply shook his head and turned back to a tube-like device that he peered into toward the distant shore.

"A long story, Milady, but then we have a long journey ahead of us," Palansül relaxed against the mast, seemingly unconcerned about the long drop to the main deck, should he shift his weight in the wrong direction. "I dragged that aboard with a net of fish some ten years ago, and showed it to friend Radagast here," he nodded to the brown robed councilor.

"I warned him not to use such things as he cannot understand, but Palansül was never one to listen to an elder's wisdom," Ragastion groused, turning from his device. "Though he has made a perfectly good telescope, the tomfool refuses to use such, relying instead upon a contraption that allows anyone with a similar tool to spy upon us." The sailor bowed with a smile at the old councilor's praise of his optical instrument, but shook off his warning with his infuriating grin.

"I don't try to enforce my will upon it, Radagast, you know as well as I that it is impossible to get this seer-stone to focus anywhere else. I don't know why it keeps such a vigil upon the western shore of Andor, but it makes a useful tool, for whatever wild or tragic tale may be connected with it." Palansül turned to Miriel, guiding her hand atop the seeing-stone. "But I know your tale is not yet finished Mistress Miriel, and perhaps with the sight of your homeland, it will be a little less tragic." For the first time since she had met him, the smile dropped from Palansül's face, leaving only sympathy for her quandary. "If you will accompany me, old friend, the queen can surely keep watch upon her country as a hawk over her nest." Palansül, his smile back but paler, led the older man down the ladder. "Best not to bother a broody falcon, if you take my meaning," the sailor added quietly, hoping not to upset the woman any further.

He need not have worried, though. Miriel, staring over the bluish scene in the palantir, was lost in thought, deaf to her surroundings in her joy at catching even a brief glance at her home country, which she had no chance of ever seeing again in the flesh.


	3. Hawk's Aerie

Author's Notes / Disclaimer: Yeah, I've obviously been Tolkien for the last two chapters. Of course it's not mine, silly. I'm slow and insane, but my delusions of grandeur aren't that great. I don't know if anyone's been reading this, but if you want to flame / comment / correct my OOC-ness; just go ahead and hit that little button in the corner. I've got a few more chapters and then only a vague idea of where to take this, and I really need to find an elven customs advisor. If any of you Thranduilion-fans feel up to the challenge, feel free to contact me through reviews or e-mail, as listed on my bio page.

* * *

Despite her old fear of heights, Miriel was up in her aerie of the crow's nest nearly every day of the remainder of the journey. The sight of sunset over Andor in the palantir was at once hopeful and disheartening, knowing that the island would continue its daily existence without her. Even the part of her that was afraid of what she might view forced Miriel to look in the seer-stone, for torture was fast becoming a normal part of her routine.

She avoided the two men aboard, although she trusted Ragastion like a father and was quickly becoming friendly with Palansül, she did not feel worthy of their company. She was loath to share her feelings of inadequacy with these two men who were her last friends and companions in the world. Miriel could not take their solace, their pity. A Queen of Numenor should be above such base emotions. Her actions were her own, and she should not need the empty words of men to bolster her wounded pride.

Several weeks into their journey, Palansül climbed up the mast in yet another attempt to bring Miriel down for a meal. She had refused to leave her nest more and more; the further the _Elwing_ sailed from Andor, the longer its brooding passenger spent pouring over the palantir. She appeared decidedly thinner to Palansül's admittedly unpracticed eye. Pale and gaunt, her rich brown hair contrasted starkly with the tired, worn woman huddled beneath those mahogany locks. A queen had boarded his ship, but the captain feared she would not leave the _Elwing_ unless something was done rather quickly.

"Mistress Miriel?" Palansül placed the tray of rations, which he had balanced precariously in his free hand while climbing up to the crow's nest, down upon the base of the telescope. Bent over the seer-stone, the woman made no reply. "Milady? You have not eaten in two days," the sailor tried again more diplomatically, laying a weather-beaten hand upon her thin shoulder, noting how loosely her dress fit over the pale, tender flesh that was partially burned from its sudden generous exposure to the sun and pimpled from the harsh, wet, and often chilling sea wind.

The dress may have been borrowed in order to gain Miriel and Radagast the precious time they needed to get to the boats by allaying suspicion, but that could not account for the secondary line in her tan, nor Palansül's memory of a strong-willed, noblewoman where an empty husk now huddled over the seer-stone.

"You really shouldn't leave that burn exposed like that, you know," Palansül added conversationally; glad to feel a bit of movement from the emaciated woman, even just her involuntary flinch. After she had spent nearly three days up here in the sun with a minimum of water, the captain was quite frankly glad to feel a bit of body heat left within her.

"Pharazon," Miriel murmured tiredly. "Pharazon is massing an army." She drooped lower, resting her head against his hand like a sleepy child, her heavily shadowed eyes closed in overexposed exhaustion.

Palansül shook his head. Before meeting Radagast, the sailor had never really paid attention to politics. The captain supposed he had supported Tar-Palantir, but without real enthusiasm, the way any average citizen did. When he had heard of Miriel's rise to the Winged Crown, the sailor could not say he had approved wholeheartedly, but neither had he particularly resented a woman upon the throne, as some of the younger men had. Palansül had looked upon the affairs of state of Andor as none of his business, and thought of his travels as none of the crown's business, so as long as they never intervened with one another he was satisfied.

Then his old friend Radagast, whose skill and sliver tongue had earned Palansül his first real contact with the elves that did not include Palansül as the potential target for several dozen arrows, had asked the captain of the _Elwing_ to transport the queen to safe havens. Not knowing what he was getting into, Palansül had easily agreed. Now this queen, more frail and troubled an individual than the sailor had ever imagined, was dependent upon him.

"Come, now, Mistress Miriel," Palansül favored her with another winning smile. "Let's get you below decks and out of this sun, aye? Then I'll find you something cool to drink. How would that suit you?" He lifted her gently to her feet, but Miriel's legs were too weak for her to stand on her own.

"Wait." The lady's voice was barely above a whisper, but the captain recognized a queenly command when he heard one. Still leaning heavily against the sailor for support, Tar-Miriel reached a trembling hand for the Palantir. "I have abandoned them to fall. I must fall as well." Her flushed face, burnt to the touch, was tragic to behold, but there were no tears left for her to shed for her doomed kingdom.

"Poor creature," Palansül murmured. "You're feverish with heat. Can you climb down, if I lend you an arm?" Allowing her to lean against him as dry sobs wracked her brittle frame, the seaman led her to the ladder on the mast.

"I must fall," the queen repeated grimly.


	4. New Explorations

Disclaimer: I just play here. It all belongs to Tolkien. And I still need a beta.

* * *

Radagast had been perusing the tattered and oft read books crammed in no comprehensive order that the ancient wizard could devise upon the shelves of the captain's cabin when Palansül came through the wooden door, a moaning, live bundle resting unquietly in his arms. Looking up from a book of elven lore, written in the high tongue, with notes in the sailor's cramped Sindarin scrawled in the margins that he had found stuffed between a notebook on lenses and a guide to sea ornithology that Radagast had personally gifted the captain some years ago, the councilor noted Palansül's face wore a most unusual expression for what was normally such a jovial man: he was scared.

The sailor had headed up to the crow's nest in an attempt to lure Miriel away from the palantir long enough for a meal, as both men were becoming worried for her health. Palansül had at last brought her down, but it was none too soon if the runaway queen were to survive. She appeared half dead from hyperthermia, judging by her badly burned arms and face and they way the poor young woman trembled in the captain's grasp. "Radagast… What do we do?" he asked the wizard apprehensively.

"Your old fish tub is empty?" Radagast stood, shaking dust from his favorite ochre robes.

"Aye," the captain replied uncertainly. "Why do you ask?" Unconsciously, he held the queen tighter in his arms, letting her head flop like a rag-doll's against his chest. Palansül had built a small container for specimens of interest that he encountered off the shores of the elven home. Primarily this tub held fish to prevent spoiling, but occasionally it had also served as a bath when the sailor had been too long at sea.

"Put her down in it and fill the tub with fresh water, Palansül," the wizard directed.

"But- but-," the seaman spluttered, turning nearly as red as Miriel's sunburn. As a man of science and exploration, the captain could be known for complete forthrightness when it came to matters of human anatomy in the abstract, but as a social hermit with no permanent home save the sea, the sailor lacked much practical experience with his own species, especially those of the feminine persuasion. Palansül's morally upright, enlightened upbringing had molded him into a successful adventurer, but it had also left him with a quality that Radagast found to be both pathetically useless and yet primitively endearing: the captain of the _Elwing_ was the most chivalrous man Radagast had ever met. The seaman was no great diplomat, but he was ever ready with a smile for his friends or a stranger. The wizard had never known his young friend to bear anyone a grudge. And in his innocent, offhand way, Palansül was coming to care for Miriel. The captain had always been gentle with women, and was attempting to be upon his best behavior in the presence of a lady, but their was something subtle in the way the grizzled sailor treated her that told Radagast that Tar-Miriel would have one more friend who would stand strong in her defense.

"Do you want her to survive or not?" With eyes that could outstare a hawk, the old wizard raised an eyebrow at the stuttering seaman. Palansül nodded empathetically. "Then the fish tub," Ragastion took his friend with his limp, fragile moaning burden by the elbow. Sympathizing with the captain's visible discomfort despite himself, the wizard sent his friend for drinking water and a soothing balm for Miriel's inflamed, irritated skin, applying the ointment himself after sending a furiously blushing Palansül to tend to the falcon that the queen's councilor had brought aboard.

"All right, you," Radagast said upon approaching the sailor with the jessed goshawk sitting upon his wrist, "while I appreciate you exercising Giladrian, and I know we all appreciate her help in controlling your rodent population; I am an old man and I require your muscles to help move Tar-Miriel to a place where she may rest in peace."

"No," Palansül choked on the word. His mind had been reeling with ever more horrible propositions as to the sickly woman's condition, and Radagast's vague modus operandi did nothing to improve this chain of thought. "My cursed weak stomach has killed her." His hand slipped open limply as tears clouded his eyes, and the gules-eyed hawk leapt unnoticed from his glove. As he turned towards the sea to attempt to comprehend the rest of eternity with such a stain of murder by neglect upon his head, the brown robed old wizard whistled, calling his wild beast down to his shoulder.

"Palansül, Palansül, my friend, that is not what I meant at all," Radagast laid a friendly hand upon the younger man's arm, and his hawk cried her approval. "Miriel simply needs a place where she can sleep and heal without us disturbing her constantly. Although, now that you broach the subject," his bushy white eyebrows furrowed in thought, "It would not be a bad idea to remove all sharp objects from the room. She is fairly delirious, and I fear Miriel has become downright suicidal at times. I know I should have told you earlier, but any fool can see that my charge is a very proud woman. I had feared that that is all that keeps her going at times, and shame would push such a delicate creature off of her precariously balanced nest. Pharazon's bid for power has not been kind to her."

The sailor shook his head in bemusement. "I don't understand. She's the rightful queen. Any honest man would support her against her cousin, if Pharazon were arrogant enough to challenge her."

"Unfortunately for Tar-Miriel, you are one of the very few honest men I know." Ragastion clasped his hand behind his back and slipped into a stance that would appear more familiar in the throne room than on a ship, resisting the urge to speak condescendingly to his naïve friend as best he could as the councilor led their short but circuitous walk back to where his exhausted charge had sunk into a weary sleep in the half-empty tub. For modesty's sake, Radagast had covered her up to the shoulders as best he could with a well-patched old tarp. It would not be appropriate for anything remotely resembling a formal occasion, but it kept the sun off of her without restricting her breathing or irritating her burns. "In the realm of politics, honest men don't survive very long. At the very least, they hardly remain candid. Pharazon has gathered every fool and upstart who thinks he can outmaneuver an orc to him, and promised each one a high position in his new regime. He spreads nonsense about Miriel and Palantir before her falling under the spell of the firstborn, who have suddenly become our worst enemy. So far, however," the wizard allowed himself a drolly ironic grin as the sailor began to bristle at the roguish behavior of a member of the royal line. "I believe my favorite part has to be when he offers to lead the good people of Andor to complete domination of the eastern lands, Sauron, and the elves. I don't quite know if he intends to do this all in one battle or spread the fun out into two or three, but our beloved queen's favorite cousin is quite obviously underestimating his skill in battle."

"As well as his attractiveness, from the rumors I've heard in the harbor." Despite the captain's obvious dislike of the subject, Palansül's natural good spirits compelled him to return the darkly humored jest. Gingerly cradling Miriel in her crude swaddling, the sailor shuddered in distaste at his thoughts. "Can't swear I blame her," he muttered under his breath. "I thought they had laws about that sort of thing."

"Speak up, lad. After a few centuries even a Maia gets a little hard of hearing." Radagast leaned in, taking hold of one of the queen's slender wrists. Presumably, this motion was to check her pulse, but it also had the unpleasant side effect of revealing the network of angry crimson scars along the underside of her arm to Palansül. As a near-constant traveler, the seaman was not prone to nausea, but he was willing to make an exception in this case.

"I'll let her have my cabin. It's rather cluttered, but it's dark and fairly dry and quiet, at least compared to the rest of the ship. I don't think I've anything dangerous in there, but I suppose I'd never find it even if there were." How the captain found anything was something of a mystery to Radagast, causing the wizard to joke that he had found a forgotten, unmentioned sixth Istar aboard the _Elwing_: Palansül the Sea-green, master of chaos.

Reentering his messy domain, the sailor laid his burden gently down upon the bed. She truly slept now, instead of her earlier state of irritated semi-consciousness, but the lost queen's rest was not peaceful. Her eyes were closed tightly, as if she were attempting to shield herself from a blinding light or undeserved blow. Although she seemed to lack the strength to curl up into a ball, all Miriel's heatstroke-weakened muscles were attempting to tense, to pull her into herself. Brushing her still-damp rich brown hair from her face, Palansül made soothing noises as he tried to alleviate her inner torture. Tar-Miriel flinched from his touch at first, but slowly began to relax under the care of the sailor's gnarled fingers that had been hardened by sea salt and manual labor, so different from the ungentle, sword-callused nobleman's hands that haunted her dreams.

"I'll stay with her a little while, Radagast," the captain said as he continued to stroke his ill passenger's tresses from the angry red of her skin. "Just so I know she's safe and comfortable." The wizard nodded and left with a mysterious half smile that would have done his young friend on a more euphoric occasion proud as Palansül continued to explore a realm entirely new to him: the red-brown depths of Miriel's hair.


	5. Fog and Sure Ground

Author's Notes: It's Tolkien's, just remixed by an insane Warg. This chapter is dedicated to Lord Valentai for an in-depth review via email at five in the morning. Thanks, Peter!

* * *

By the time Miriel reawakened, the _Elwing_ was almost upon her destination. Peeking through the half-open door, the queen could make out little but ship and fog. Nevertheless, an odd, earthy scent and the distant reply of a seabird to Giladrian's cry of challenge let her know that land was not too far away, even if the sudden murkiness hid it from view. The trio aboard the _Elwing_ had had good sailing weather for the majority of their trip, courtesy of the ancient accord with the wizardly elves, but Valinor was ever surrounded by a cloaking haze that hid it from the view of aspiring mortal eyes.

Despite the fog, Miriel could not shake off the strong, uplifting feeling of inevitable homecoming. "When did you finally see sense and turn around, Palansül?" she asked the mist, truly smiling with delight for the first time since boarding the vessel. Certainly, her voyage had created more problems than it had apparently solved, but somehow Tar-Miriel no longer feared the threat of her cousin. She was the rightful monarch, not Pharazon. If his threatening sneer shadowed her mind, there was a certain pair of shining gray eyes to brighten her mood. Whenever Pharazon's hard hands hurt her, a more gentle, gnarled pair would be there to soothe the pain, at least in her memory, if the sailor would not stay in court. _He would do well as a naval commander,_ the queen thought to herself, laughing slightly at the mental image of informal, messy Palansül in dress uniform. As ridiculous as it seemed on the surface, Miriel filed the notion away as a method to oust her cousin from military power. Even if the captain of the _Elwing_ was not as good at martial strategy as cruel, war-mongering Pharazon, his fame as an explorer and development of the telescope should go far towards earning him respect amongst the navy.

"Mistress Miriel?" The main subject of the woman's daydream knocked lightly, sticking his head within the opening. Backing up so as to avoid a collision with his suddenly emerging cranium, the queen readjusted the oversize robe Ragastion had dressed her in as she permitted the seaman entrance. Palansül stood in the doorway, expressionless as he took in her appearance. Still emaciated and waiflike, Miriel's color had at least improved, the painful red giving way to a rosy tan. She stood tall and proud, the same as the queen had upon their first meeting. However, perhaps it was only her loose hair cascading down her back, but Palansül thought that Miriel seemed to lack that initial stiffness in his presence that she had displayed before her illness. "Well, it's a wonder to see you up and about," the sailor spoke at last, self-consciously breaking into a smile that widened considerably when he saw it returned.

"It feels good to be able to stand upon my own, but perhaps we ought to sit back down," Miriel returned, placing her hand on the crammed bookshelf for support. "I am not yet returned to my full strength." The captain offered her an arm for the few steps back to the bed, and for once the headstrong queen did not refuse it. She seated herself primly upon the side of the bed as if the down mattress was no more padded than her father's throne, and then with her diplomatically welcoming gesture, Palansül slouched back next to Miriel.

"I just dropped by to see if you needed anything," the seaman ventured slowly. "We're nearing shore, and now that you're awake, I suppose you'll want to get ready for departure."

"I suppose so," Miriel replied, pushing her hair back from her shoulder. As glad as she was for her apparent return to Andor, she did not know how to explain her clandestine disappearance. More importantly, she was not sure how she might convince the captain to stay with her after she disembarked his ship. "But I want to thank you before I leave, Palansül. I would not have survived if it hadn't been for your care." Looking about as she rummaged through her mind for the proper words, Tar-Miriel seemed to notice her surroundings for the first time. "You even lent me your quarters."

The sailor was the one to break eye contact this time. "I meant to from the first, but I didn't get it cleaned out in time. Figured you wouldn't mind as much when you just needed it for shade. Radagast was really the one who got you safe, I just fetched and carried."

"Ragastion has ever been a friend to me, and I will thank him when I see him." The captain realized that his hand was upon Miriel's bare shoulder, and hers lay atop his. Whether he had placed it there upon his own unconscious urgings and she had clasped it in reassurance or she had intertwined her smooth, long nailed fingers with his rougher ones before resting them upon her newly tanned, sensitive skin was not in his memory. Either way, Palansül was at once apprehensive and optimistic of the implications of this turn of events. "But you have been a very dear friend to me as well, Palansül the Grayhavensailor, and I would like to continue this friendship."

If she looked him in the eye at that point, the seaman knew that he would lose himself. He felt her hand tremble upon his and knew she felt the same. Miriel was queen of the greatest human empire in the known world, threatened to the edge of sanity by her power-hungry cousin. Palansül was an explorer, an eccentric inventor who had no more than a small ship and its cluttered contents to his name. Yet in this endless moment, they were simply a man and a woman, afraid to fall for one another, more afraid of going on alone.

"But of course. I won't leave you, my friend." An odd thought occurred to him as he tried to ease the awkward silence: "The first woman in Valinor." Palansül did not realize he had spoken the last aloud until the lady asked him to repeat himself. "You will shortly be the first mortal woman to enter the Gray Havens, Majesty. And while there are plenty of elves, I've noticed a distinct paucity of men there," With a self-conscious grin, the sailor removed their entwined hands from her shoulder, raising her fingers to her lips. Holding her delicate, mutilated left hand as gently as he could, the captain picked up her right as well; stroking her palms with the vague, well-meaning wish that there could be some way to make them whole once more. The scars in her wrists would always be there, symbols of her scarred heart. He knew that as well as she. Palansül could only prevent further ones, if he were gentle enough with her. "If I may be so bold as to question the actions of a wizard, do you think Radagast set us up?"

"You're always bold, dear friend," Miriel replied with a smile, caressing his hands. "And always ready to brighten my mood. If it was Ragastion's intention to put us together, they do say that the decisions of wizards are generally wise ones. But we are upon Valinor? It feels so much like home." The queen stood, walking unsteadily to the door that the captain had left ajar. Palansül followed her, standing right behind her in the doorway as she peered out into the mist.

"It does feel like home, from the first time one approaches these sacred shores." As he inhaled the heady vapor of the western lands, the wanderer could feel Miriel lean slightly into him, and Palansül felt more than ever that he was home at last.


	6. Stay

Author's Notes: It's Tolkein's. I merely supply the odd AU. 

* * *

"It can't be," Miriel recovered from her momentary swoon and rushed towards the prow of the ship, regardless of weakness and tender complexion. "We must have turned around while I was ill. Andor is just beyond the mists."

"'Tis nine in the morning, and if you turn about now, you can make out the sun through the clouds behind us," Palansül gestured towards the rising orb of light. Miriel turned, obviously unconvinced that the area he pointed out was particularly brighter than the rest of the sky. "Come, now, Mistress Miriel, I have made this passage often enough that I can tell Andor from the shores of Valinor. Even in this weather, the ships of the imperial lands would cluster thick around the bay." The sailor gestured wittingly at the empty fog, but it failed to wipe the expression of disbelief from the woman's face any further than it cleared the cool morning mist.

"It can't be," the queen repeated stubbornly. She had not truly believed the veracity of Palansül's adventures, even with Radagast's corroboration of such. Miriel leaned over the railing, searching for some familiar landmark beyond the fog. Watching this pale waif bow over the edge of his ship, her hair cascading over the prow like a red-brown wave, the captain was reminded once again how thin a line she walked between health and her inner debilitating fog of fearful madness.

"We will be safe here, my lady," he said, joining her at the front. "The elves can be a bit snobbish at first, but they aren't bad fellows, all things considered. Most aren't as bad as the Andor nobs, even. That doesn't include you, of course, majesty." The seaman cursed his simple tongue, as he lacked the refined grace to properly comfort her, as her councilor would have been able to. But faux pass or no, the queen appeared to not have heard a single thing he said. She was leaning so far over the railing now that the captain was partially afraid that she would fall into the cove. "Wait until we get there, you'll see," Palansül murmured gently, placing his hand upon her shoulder and drawing Miriel back into the ship. She resisted his grip, but just barely.

"You won't leave me?" she asked, propping herself against him. Once more, Palansül was reminded of how frail and childlike the lady could be. And here, she trusted him. It was an odd feeling; to know one was needed like this. Radagast was a friend, of course, and placed a goodly amount of trust in the sailor, but the old wizard could fend for himself, should Palansül fail. The sailor had once had another trust him unconditionally once, but that had come to a poor end. He hated to remember that dark blemish on an otherwise happy life, but the memories sometimes came back to haunt him, in this place. Here in the mists, other clouds upon the sea became all too easy to remember.

"Nay, mistress, I won't." There was nothing he could change of that time; he would simply have to forgive himself for it and remember the lessons of it for Miriel's sake. At least this time there were no dark friends to worry about here, for now, at least.

"Good," there seemed to be a little more strength to her voice and form, now that she had the support of his words and his lean frame. Placing her arm about his shoulder, she pulled Palansül's arm around her as she said quietly, "I need a new naval commander."

The captain shook his head, but cradled her closer. "I could not. For one thing, chasing down Pharazon would require finding a safe place to leave you." His smile had returned as he let his nose sink into her mahogany curls, but it was a faint thing and tinged with grief.

"I would go with you, my friend," Miriel looked up into his eyes. A woman could lose her heart in those shining gray eyes, much like the sea at storm. "Ragastion may approve of this escape, but as a queen I am unskilled in running away."

"I must say I approve as well, so far as it allowed us to meet." He was in no small amount of awe of her. Even when she had no more but a ghost of her former strength to her, she still planned ways to resist her enemy. And yet, had she perhaps found a new source of strength? In Palansül, of all people? He could hardly believe that. An eccentric sailor had little to offer a queen, even one fallen from grace as Tar-Miriel was.

"Could we turn back now, then?" Her face, which had been inches from his lips, turned away to behold the fog.

"You fear the elves, Palantiriel?" There was a light amount of teasing in his tone, but she was in no mood for it.

"I fear their wrath," Miriel replied. "You walk a thin line with the use of the palantir, Palansül."

"Perhaps so," he felt her pull towards the wheelhouse, and he was more than willing to walk with her, away from the edge. "But 'tis not as thin a line as some I've toed. Despite all appearances, Radagast gets on well with them, and many will suffer my presence in return for news of their kinsmen who have not yet joined them in the Havens."

"But to come and go from them as you please, that just is not right. Whether you follow the letter of the law or not, you break the spirit of that trust." She took her arm from around him, snatching it to her chest as if she had touched something forbidden to her. "I fear I break the trust established between the elves and edain, merely by accompanying you."

"Miriel," the captain said, stopping outside the cabin. "Hold for a moment. Look at me," he said softly, raising her lowered chin. Her eyes, of a light, muddied color that Palansül could not quite construe as being muted blue or entirely gray, searched his face, frightened and alone. Once again he longed to kiss her, but this would hardly be the right time. "The Valar will doubtless hold us each responsible for our own sins, but this is not your fault. Radagast and I convinced you to come, merely because we feared for your safety. Now, if we had thought that Mandos would claim you as soon as we had sailed up here, we would have taken you to the southern lands instead, wouldn't we?" The queen shook her head, no sounds emerging from behind her bitten lip.

From the crow's nest, the watchful wizard called for Palansül to get moving. They would be docking soon. "I will stay with you, milady, but I would have us safe. Think on that." Reluctantly, awkwardly letting her go, the sailor left to attend his vessel.


	7. A View for the Future

Author's Notes: I own nothing and no one. Radagast was feeling unloved, so I attempted to assuage him. The name at the end, for folk unfamiliar with Sindarin, translates as Sea-son, unlike Garion, which translates as spear-son, and comes from an entirely different (and much better) storyline, The Belgariad. Yes, the Eddings bunnies are on the loose again, trying to get me to finally crack down and do a Silk story. Soon as I finish this one, I promise. Thanks to DreamingFifi-Olthadvaivai for the translation. Don't just sit there, go review before the plot-bunnies return. Maybe you can head them off.

* * *

Radagast had not kept his telescope trained upon the far off, now invisible shore, nor had he made very frequent checks of the palantir. Despite Palansül's assurances to the contrary, the _Elwing_ would not run herself, and neither would Miriel, her councilor feared. The ship at least he could do something about, reorganizing the sailor's gear, patching holes in the sail, and whatnot, but all that the wizard could do for his ward was to insure that she ate, and then hang back, and watch Palansül work his own type of magic upon the lady.

Those two should get along wonderfully; it was not as if they had not been chosen for one another. Let Gandalf and Saruman roll their eyes at Radagast's clumsy matchmaking, they had their own silly hobbies to pass the time between great events, as sure as he. The white wizard was even beginning to get in the spirit of Ragastion's breeding programs, even if the brown Istar suspected that Curunir did so only to humor his subordinate. It was of no matter, though.

Radagast had been fascinated with all living things, ever since he was first sent to Middle Earth. He had made a plan to study a few hundred species each century, focusing on individuals in order to try to get a slice of the whole. For humans, these individuals included Miriel and Palansül, and Radagast was often surprised at how well and how strangely these two adapted, even when he had put a hand into their genetics, in Miriel's case, or upbringing, as in Palansül's.

Miriel's grandmother had been difficult to get in to the queenship, all her high lineage aside, as the royal line had become ever more suspicious of elves and their sympathizers over the past decades, but the resultant heir had been well worth the trouble. If only the second-born son had matched his brother in wisdom and kindness, and not outmatched him so in ambition and ruthlessness, or even if Gimilkhad's son had not matched his father in temperament, Radagast would not have had this problem. But he was always so focused on one thing at a time that he could not see the forest for its trees. Once again, the brown-robed Maiar felt, he had made a mess of things by not paying attention and following through. He could practically hear Saruman sneering at him all ready. The white wizard appeared to understand Radagast better than most of the others, but the head of the order could be such an arrogant prig. Nevertheless, Radagast the Brown would show them this time. He would not foul up his assigned task. Ragastion would bloody well keep the royal bloodline safe and loyal to the elves, if that were the will of the council. He might have to bend a few rules in order to do so, but he would manage it.

Luckily, the wizard had found the perfect ally in a young fisherman's son. Palansül had needed only a slight push in order to learn elvish and take his boat a wee bit further west every day in his fishing trips. For better or for worse, as Palansül was rather nearsighted for one of the Dunedain, he had also started tinkering about with glass lenses to keep the shoreline in sight. They were too imprecise now, but they had led to instruments not only good enough for improving the personal vision of an individual over normal distances, but also bringing objects normally too distant for even sharp-eyed men to see them into focus. These had been the start, and then the palantir had come along by some stroke of luck. Let Palansül believe what he willed, Radagast strongly suspected one of his fellows had given him that helpful nudge to get the wizard and explorer closer to their destination and allowed the Samaritan to check in on the brown wizard's progress at the same time. None would admit to it, but Pallandro's half-smile at their councils spoke wonders. It would figure if the blues had done that, as they were the only ones willing to accompany Radagast upon the occasional nature hike. The councilor figured he ought to remember to gift those two with some of the higher-grade telescopic lenses the next time they got together. He used them for bird watching, but the blue wizards would doubtless find them useful for their nightly stargazing fix. Thinking of his associates, Radagast had glanced up at the stars the other night. That bright one was Earendil, he was fairly certain, but the other constellations eluded him. It had been too long since he had been by the order. Next he would forget his own areas of expertise as he tried to keep up with mortal politics.

All matters of intra-order management aside, Radagast knew he had business to attend to here. There were elves that accepted him and Palansül, elves who were even friendly with them, but there were also those that disapproved of the maiar's arrival, much less the mortal sailor's. They would certainly not be pleased with Miriel.

Gaerion. He needed Gaerion. The elf was not perhaps their most influential supporter, but he could at least find a comfortable place for Miriel, where she would not be noticed, until Radagast was ready for it. Turning the telescope so that it faced west into deeper fog, Ragastion prayed that their first encounter would be with a friendly face.


End file.
